


Rituals of the Ocean Floor

by Donvex



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Courting Rituals, Fox Spirit, M/M, Mythology References, Sharkman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donvex/pseuds/Donvex
Summary: He takes things, barters with coin, fills his satchel each and every time he leaves his own waters. Sometimes he has things for the fox spirit, sometimes he does not. It’s harder for Sokka to offer him gifts. His friend lives amongst the humans’ trees, amongst their grounds. It’s something of a shared world between the two, respect for safekeeping. The humans live in peace, and in return the spirit guides them through. Anything that Sokka could offer him, he could ask for from the locals.Except, that is, for things found on the ocean floor. Things that can’t be replicated, produced by the ocean and the ocean alone.And Sokka is something of an expert in that.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 406





	Rituals of the Ocean Floor

**Author's Note:**

> or that one where sokka is shifter with a sharkman form and zuko is a fox spirit
> 
> for liv (@sword-over-water on tumblr)  
> now with [art](https://sword-over-water.tumblr.com/post/625169657191596032/the-shell-he-holds-delicately-the-glass-he-wont) !!!!

Evening falls, and lanterns rise all along the dirt path from the nearby town to the shoreline. There’s whistles and chimes coming from the forest, dancing across the breeze like a whispered lullaby. The tiny lights, shielded by crisp paper in red and orange, glow against the curtain of deep blue and purple that the sky settles into. The stars look almost like dust in comparison, only a background detail as warm hues wash cross the land and trees.

The lanterns are, in a sense, their own path. Guidance through the tangle of branches and bushes, set in one straight direction. Sokka has followed this path several times over now, in his journey. He makes frequent trips out, to this town and to many further, and always he returns. Sometimes here, sometimes closer to home. Never has Sokka seen a night go by where the lanterns don’t rise, whether surrounded by the competing light of summer fireflies or the cold snow that threatens to bury them in white.

The walk is long. He’s sturdy on his legs and familiar with their strength. He trusts them. He knows they’ll take it from where he is to where he needs to be. That being said, legs don’t listen to him the way a tail does. When he steps back into the ocean, he can feel the skin and muscle pulled from his bone like spools of ribbon, unwinding and reforming until his form is only half human once again. The water that had rushed away from his flesh before returns to him, curls around his scales, surrounds him in that feeling of home. Several days away had left him sore and dry, and as fascinating as the trip had been, he’s happy to submerge himself once more.

Besides. He’ll have a guest waiting for him tonight, as he does each and every time he returns from his duties in the human world.

The fox spirit is most active nearing dawn. This has always been the case, as Sokka has come to learn during his travels. For most spirits he’s met, it’s one or the other. If not rising with the sun, then they wake with the evening, as if spirits may only be present when the sun is rising or setting. Two powerful times of day, for very powerful beings. And yet, no matter the time Sokka returns, morning or night, it never takes more than a couple hours for _his_ friendly fox spirit to present himself. It’s a curiosity that they share, and Sokka feels himself pulled back time and time again. They meet in peace, sharing words that are just for them, hidden from both of their respective worlds by coming together at the line between them. The line between land and water. 

This gives Sokka time, though, to prepare some things.

His bag he leaves behind, the leather satchel wedged between two rocks where the ocean laps at the shore. He trusts it to be safe. 

Within its depths are things he doesn’t feel like waterproofing, not at the moment. He’d ask his sister for help with it, as he usually does, but there’s no point in going to his family just yet. They’ll see his return tonight, when the moon has far risen overhead and his friend has whispered goodbye, off to tend to his guiding lanterns once again. Sokka has never loved the color gold so much.

The scrolls for his father, the beaded necklace for his sister. He brings back with him gifts each time. Sometimes they’re physical and sometimes they’re knowledge. Sometimes they’re snacks, things like fruits or sweets that they don’t have in the depths of the ocean. Things they could never have tried had they not migrated farther north. It’s a scouting job first and foremost, and Sokka never fails in this, but he thinks the intrigue of delicacies and frivolities are just as important. To truly understand humans, he must truly experience human life. To not bring that joy back to his family would be as much a crime as not experiencing it for himself.

So he takes things, barters with coin, fills his satchel each and every time he leaves his own waters. Sometimes he has things for the fox spirit, sometimes he does not. It’s harder for Sokka to offer him gifts. His friend lives amongst the humans’ trees, amongst their grounds. It’s something of a shared world between the two, respect for safekeeping. The humans live in peace, and in return the spirit guides them through. Anything that Sokka could offer him, he could ask for from the locals.

Except, that is, for things found on the ocean floor.

Fishermen, Sokka has found, know very little of the ocean. They can’t be blamed; their ability to live underwater is short lived and shallow, and the true treasures of the sea are found much closer to the depths. But Sokka is an expert, easily. He has an appreciation for the finer things, not just gems and things the humans label valuable without cause. The things that _mean_ something, to him and to his people. Things that can’t be replicated, produced by the ocean and the ocean alone.

The shell he chooses has an orange sheen to it. It lays nestled between its brethren, some with cracked ridges and others with shattered bases. This one is smooth, save for the ridges that curl its lip. Flecks of brown gather at the edge, dispersing the farther up the base they go. Underwater the shell looks pale and sickly yellow, but Sokka knows that in the light of the setting sun it will match the fire of the fox’s eyes. 

The ocean glass is frosted, swirls of translucent blue and white twisted together. Sokka finds a collection of them, scattered around the sandy floor, and gathers those he’s interested in. Some are more teal, and others are truer to the color of his ocean’s waves. He feels each one in his palm, holds its weight in his hand, and runs his thumb over its surface. The smoothest of the pile are discarded, but those with harsh edges he keeps. Their beauty is only reflected in their cutting trim, and that’s why he likes them. Their sharpness reminds him of the wits of the fox’s mind and the edge’s of the fox’s smile.

The fish is hunted last. They’re easy to catch; what’s harder is settling on which he wants to gift. There are plenty that taste good despite their ugly exterior, but Sokka is picky. He wants their exterior to match their flavor. So maybe he tests the taste of a couple on the way, but how could he not? He’s been away from home for days now, and fish don’t taste the same above water, no matter how fresh they’re caught. All of the kinds of seafood Sokka thinks his friend might be interested in are small and easy to eat, too, and he wants to be _certain_ that the spirit will enjoy his choice. What if Sokka’s favorite fish from last season has changed with the new weather? The fact that it hasn’t isn’t the point, it’s the fact that it _could_ have. In the end the chosen snack is a short, thick fish, with silver scales and spots of red. He’s going for a color theme, and by Tui and La he’s going to keep it. The fins are long and narrow, fading into clear wisps, and their ends too are dotted with gold. It will be a quick thing to eat. Though the taste will be good, it will end no hunger, the way Sokka’s appetite for the fox spirit’s presence is insatiable.

He wraps his gifts with netting and secures them at his side before returning to where his bag hides at the surface. The sun is already lowered, the lanterns are already out, and his friend is already waiting for him by the rocks.

“You’re early.”

Sokka looks at him incredulously. “I’m right on schedule. You, for once, aren’t late.”

The spirit’s somber expression cracks, and Sokka can _feel_ the radiating warmth that his smile brings. “Zuko. I missed you. I brought you things!”

Zuko dips his fingers in the water, dances them idly through the moving surface as he speaks. His eyes never leave Sokka’s. “Tell me about your travels first. What has Hakoda sent you for this time?” Sokka recounts for Zuko his recent trip, talks of what he sought and what he returns with. Zuko has no interest in seeing the scrolls for himself, Sokka already knows this. He’d much rather hear Sokka tell him the story word for word then he would to read the paper on his own. The time Sokka had teasingly accused Zuko of not being able to read in the first place had left his shoulder sore for three days, and it’s only now that some time has passed that Sokka can look back on that gesture fondly. He understands, now, why Zuko chooses to listen in place of read. As Sokka speaks, Zuko watches him with the intensity of a summer’s heat just after noon, and Sokka has never managed to not take it as praise.

At some point, while they’re both grinning and the comfortable silence stretches between them, Sokka takes out his things. “For you.” He nudges them closer to Zuko, who’s looking curiously at the first gift that isn’t being given to him right out of Sokka’s bag.

“Are these from your journey?”

Sokka shakes his head. “No. These are things from home.”

Zuko unwraps the netting. He picks up each of the gifts one by one, spinning them in his grip while Sokka tells him what they mean. The shell he holds delicately, the glass he won’t stop rolling between his fingers, and the fish he raises by its tail with an amused look on his face. Sokka’s feeling proud, the way Zuko hungrily takes in his words, his gaze only ripping away from his new things to look back at Sokka’s face. They take each other’s hand somewhere in between the talking, and it's distracting, which is why it startles him when Zuko lets out a small yip.

It’s something of a shriek, and though not loud, it sounds like pain. Sokka has never heard him make it before, not after any of the previous gifts he’s given him, and it’s…. confusing. And a bit worrying. He tries to be calm when he speaks, though, because this is the fox. The clever, deceitful fox. Not everything is always as it seems with him.

“You don’t like them?”

Zuko tilts his face at him, full of both wonder and confusion. “Of course I like them. Didn’t you just hear me?”

It doesn’t make sense just yet, but it does make sense that Zuko is fine. That part registers with Sokka easily. Zuko has never been who he first appears to be. “It sort of just sounded like a yell to me. Which is, usually, a sound of alarm.” Zuko looks at him with mirth, and understanding, and it’s as he’s explaining himself that Sokka begins to remember who he’s talking to.

“Have you never listened to the sounds of the forest at night? To the calls of the mating foxes?”

And, no, Sokka hasn’t. Not on purpose, at least. There’s always been so many other sounds in the night, and the lives of the fauna around him had never been his business. But he can place the sound to the foxes mating calls, now that he’s putting thought into it, and _damn_ he hates this guy. Except he doesn’t, obviously. He’s incredibly enamored, more so than he was even at the beginning. 

They’re still holding hands, and tightly at that, but Sokka is the first to tear his hand away. He grips at the coat that dresses Zuko and pulls him forward, into the water, to kiss him. Zuko’s hands curl their way around Sokka’s neck, all of his weight being supported by the work of Sokka’s strong muscles and tail. Neither of them pay mind to the small crashes of water that leap around them, white foam and glinting light sparkling against their skin. When they pull back for air, which Sokka doesn’t technically need, their eyes find each other immediately. Sokka brushes back long, wet strips of hair from Zuko’s forehead. Tucks them behind his ear.

Sokka is the first to speak, Zuko’s cheek now cradled in the rough skin of his palm. “You knew something was going to be special about tonight, didn’t you?”

Zuko shrugs with a single shoulder, not looking like he’s taking the question seriously at all. His thumb strokes circles against Sokka’s collarbone, comfortable with how familiar their closeness already feels. “I’m not often on time for anyone’s schedule other than my own.” He doesn’t say that he knew. He doesn’t really have to. Sokka doesn’t ask how, either. Every person has their own magic, and Zuko has always been a quick learner.

“I want to see the world with you. Both of our worlds. I know a few ways, I’m a pretty inventive guy.”

He feels Zuko’s resounding yes through the rejoining of their hands. They stay together far later than usual that night, washed over by the moon’s light, dreaming of what journeys their many tomorrows will bring.

**Author's Note:**

> man, another fic banged out in a day. liv and i were talking about collabing, and i was just WAY too excited, so i took a little break from writing the hitchiker au to make this. hope you love it!!! they're sweet and tender as always and i love it. as always, feel free to come find me on tumblr @donvex !!


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